


Just Like We Never Said Goodbye

by Eavans



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2012, Alcohol, Experimental Style, Fluff, Getting Back Together, M/M, POV Experimental, POV Second Person, Songfic, idk man its short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6465319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eavans/pseuds/Eavans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Dan and Phil split in 2012, only to reconnect years later.<br/>___</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not expected.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Your words seem to catch onto one another and drag the fragments farther and farther from your grasp. Avalanche of emotion perhaps, tremor of the tongue surely.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>This isn’t what’s supposed to happen.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like We Never Said Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I am not usually a fan of second person pov myself, I felt I couldn’t tell the story in the style I wanted in any other way. Hope you like it as much as I had fun writing it?? [link to song insp.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Z3N79ktprw) [tumblr link](http://pinklester.tumblr.com/post/142598626451/just-like-we-never-said-goodbye)

 

A ring.

That’s all that makes you get up from your desk is _a ring_ , the same playful cling shaking the base of your camera supplies that rings for everyone. You brush the paperwork off the lenses, place the camera on the bed next to you, and finally pick up the phone.

You make a mental note to clean after the call.

* * *

It’s not expected.

Your words seem to catch onto one another and drag the fragments farther and farther from your grasp. Avalanche of emotion perhaps, tremor of the tongue surely.

This isn’t what’s supposed to happen.

* * *

“I want us to talk again,” he says, and you touch your hand to your heart at first, and creep it up to your cheek at last, just to remind yourself the warmth is there. His words are clear and steady and– _and he makes a joke._

The baritone was reserved for a row –or nothing at all– not a song as this feels now.

It washes over you. Your hand fumbles for a pen and writes numbers, words, an equal string of incomprehensibility carried from before.

_Modulation through a muse_ , the fates whisper.

You wonder at how beautiful blue looks on white.

* * *

The words fall from your mouth rehearsed and redone a trillion times– more clunky and awkward every time. Your mind and mouth volley.

The coffee cups quiver and the reality is buried, you don’t even indulge lest it lesson the dream. You don’t even know where to start.

* * *

A week on and you remember he is not a boy. No matter how much it counters– the cut hair, the stubble, the flesh on his shoulders, this is not 2012. It isn’t even 2000. He sits on your couch leaned towards the television, and his hair falls to the tip of his nose in a birch black. The corners the space create when he is deep in thought seem to electrify to the rest of him, and it then you remember he is not a boy.

It is here that you sin– and look.

And you sink into the dream of those shoulders over you, his hair his only mask, his soft voice finally breaking through the air–

You shiver. Neither are very young anymore.

* * *

In snatches of time you steal looks, and it shifts to the face in embarrassment. You have studied it before, for hours, and yet it was new again. Older. Time delivering her only gift.

So you start to see the blue in the cosmos, and wonder how you’d ever forgot it. You have not seen anything so beautiful in such a short span in so long you’re afraid if you look a second longer you’ll never have the heart to pull away. You were civil once. Now you can barely look on him. The stars never blushed at the eons as he did.

* * *

He touches you one evening out of the blue and you resist the urge to melt. Years have passed since an icy handshake, and it sends your nerves into shock, so cold is it that you mistake it for its absence– until you start to calm.

It is not from cold. It is burned from heat.

* * *

A fan stops you two one day while on the train and asks for a photograph. You sign her phone and smile, and she tells you how happy she is.

That night the photo blows up. Nobody knows what to make of it.

* * *

You put the champagne down and let the dryness burn down your throat in waves. You wonder if the warmth is from drink or man, because his casual push of your hair up is normal… _right?_

_No, Daniel, it isn’t._

_Then why does it feel so right_ , you think.

Ten million subscribers isn’t anything, _you think._

His kiss begs to differ.

* * *

You reintroduce Phil to by way of photos, let the girls keep in the footage for their vlogs and tweet an occasional update of the latest London disasters. You don’t pay attention to the drama. The internet didn’t save the relationship last time, after all.

“Everyone’s gone mental,” he says one night while out together. “They’re saying it’s like I never left.”

And for once, you'll have to agree with them.

Hands didn’t fit like theirs very often.

* * *

Soon enough the nudges turn to kisses and the black sweater falls like a leaf, you wonder at the pink around his lips and the breeze between the boughs. Ligaments lose the tension with a touch and you can taste the defeat on your lips with a lick– _oh_.

“I forgot you arched like a cat,” he says, running his hands along you, stronger now. Your body can only spasm in response, reality gripped at his hair and tore loose with a zenith.

These are second chances.

This is _bliss_.

* * *

Things start to fall into place after that. You think this chapter starts with his old green sweatshirt, the one from his uni, when you see it at his place on the floor.

“It’s getting cold.”

“Take it.”

It’s smaller than you remember, and it reminds you of your first years together, the collar too tight and hood a little stretched from use.

You think everything when he lets you keep it.

* * *

And when he fixes your hair in the hall, smoothes the mess to a point and smiles, that’s when you realize he’s with you. When familiar eyes watch from across a room, grab onto the dress shirt they’ve seen at Christmas before and know it isn’t yours, reintroduced without a skip of the beat–

“Let’s see them.”

Familiar hands hold familiar passions, and though the memories stick on Phil’s parents hands as they greet you inside, genetics failed on their youngest. He presses against the small of your back on the couch to calm you, and when he opens your present of a silver kintsugi plant holder and laughs, you think maybe– _just maybe_ – they’ll come around too.

* * *

Perhaps everything is temporary, you think as you look him in the eyes, a year on. You sip little stars from your glass and muse at the party, look at how the white daffodils seem to grow all around you.

Phil gets up next to you and toasts the newlyweds, tells stories of PJ no one had heard before, and raises a laugh from even the soberest of guests.

“I’ve known love, and I’ve known heartache, and I’ve know love again and wondered how I ever lived without it.”

You smile, embarrassed.

A daffodil lays below you stately, petals cotton white. You wonder how long until it wilts–  

Perhaps everything is temporary, but you wonder if it matters. _Temporary_ can mean anything. Temporary can mean _forever_.

“It’s just like we never said goodbye,” you whisper next to him when he sits back down, the blue glimmering in the candle's glare.

He rings a small bell on the table in front of you, and PJ looks over with a shy smile before kissing his bride.

“What goodbye?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It'd be really nice if I got some feedback on the work though, as I definitely went with my gut on the style with this one and didn't obsessively cleanse it as I usually would have. I'm sorry if it's all a bit ambiguous, but I thought there was a lot of meaning in the subtext so I took my hands of it and just let it tell it for me this time. 
> 
> (Have a great day :")


End file.
